Harry Potter: Survivor of the Moon
by Snufflefeet
Summary: What if Voldemort had planned more thoroughly before attempting to kill the Potters? Even the best of plans go awry...
1. Prologue: The Beginning

A/N: I have decided to place my other story on Hiatus for a while.

A/N2: Been observing other fanfics for a while.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... I would if I could but I can't so I won't!**

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A sleepy village was illuminated in the gloom of the moonlight. Said village was largely residential, with a few other facilities situated nearby. A church stood in a corner, in good condition for the most part except for shattered windows, courtesy of vandals. A large graveyard stood next to said church, ominous and foreboding. The cobbled path leading to it had been swept recently in anticipation for the holiday. Numerous jack o' lanterns lined both sides of the path, a few of which had distinct portions missing, courtesy of a certain starving tramp. Jackie was not particularly proud of his deeds. Once a respectable individual, although not well-off, he had recently fallen upon evil times. Unrestrained gambling had drained his financial resources and he had to resort to begging for alms.

'Gotta love Halloween,' he thought smugly as he munched on the orange delicacy that he could not afford. 'I can't afford anything, however. Bankrupt,' he thought bitterly as his mood immediately soured. Sighing, he turned his thoughts towards much better times when he had a loving wife ten years prior. Sadly, their happy marriage was not to last.

When Jackie had begun associating with a group of shady individuals, he had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Said individuals constantly wore long cloak-like clothes. They were particularly condescending to him and his family, treating them as their inferiors. Their particular ringleader, apparently, was a white-blond man, who apparently, had more than enough gold to throw around. Numerous failed attempts by his wife to persuade Jackie to leave the group's company later, the straw that broke the camel's back came.

His wife had been spat at by the white-blond whose name was Luscious or something to that effect. Needless to say, the blond had been enraged. Raising his fist in fury, he poised to punch dear Petunia when he was hastily stopped by Jackie. Jackie had grabbed the left forearm of the blond, whose death glare immediately quelled any valiant thoughts of protecting his wife.

One vicious thrashing later, his severely bruised wife had packed all her belongings and ran away. Jackie who had attempted to chase her, did not hear the many 'cracks' ensuing from his living room, nor did he see the possessor of a high and cold voice, or the horrendous punishment that left the blond writhing in tears for summoning people needlessly.

After that, it had all gone downhill. Jackie had taken to drinking with a vengeance, determined to drown his sorrows in whiskey. Sometimes, in his drunken stupors, the group sought him out for information about 'Potters', as if everyone did not know about pottery. Eventually though, seeing as he was not going to be of much use, the group had left him alone to spiral into the depths of bankruptcy.

Snapping out of his depressing thoughts, Jackie finished his pumpkin slice, before beginning on a fourth pumpkin. 'Halloween dinner,' he thought wryly.

Suddenly, a large 'crack' that even the old, dirty and slightly deaf tramp could not miss shattered the silence. To Jackie's astonishment, a dumpy and rat-like balding man appeared out of nowhere. Unfortunately, said man had trodden on the remnants of his food, which Jackie had carefully placed next to a hedge.

"Now, look here, you-" began Jackie angrily, before he trailed off in horror. A distinct sinking feeling had made itself very known in the pit of his stomach. Looking up, Jackie saw the same cloak-like clothes that were very popular with the group he used to associate with. With a ominous feeling, Jackie looked up into the face of the rat-like man. The tramp vaguely recalled that strange things had happened around the cloak-wearing folks, all of which were inexplicable and not entirely pleasant.

"Oops, sorry, sir. Wrong identity. Would you like this delicious pumpkin slice as an apology?"

Peter Pettigrew, more commonly known as Wormtail was in a very bad mood at the present. The Marauders and Lily had gotten together just yesterday to reminisce about old times. To aggravate his melancholy, it had started snowing. Peter hated snow. With a heavy heart, he had answered to the summons of the Dark Lord sullenly. Which was not particularly wise, seeing as the second most powerful Dark Lord in over a century was also a shade of paranoid and more than a little _Crucio_-happy.

Wincing at the wave of phantom pain that washed over him, Peter quashed all negative emotions viciously. He knew negativity would affect his performance. However, he could not restrain himself in time. Glaring at the Muggle, or non-magical person, Peter withdrew his wand slowly as if unsheathing a sword. Flicking his wand quickly, he transfigured the Muggle into a bone, which he tossed to a convenient stray dog nearby.

Humming happily at his feat, Peter took a glance at the tasty-looking pumpkin nearby.

"Well, maybe a bite wouldn't hurt..." reasoned Peter before reaching for a slice.

"Wand-wielder. You are early," whispered a silky voice into Peter's ear. Caught off guard, Peter spun around so quickly while simultaneously attempting to draw his wand that he lost his balance and landed face-first in the snow.

"Much as I imagine your eagerness to greet me must be, I must mention that your display of _such_ agility does not instill much confidence in your abilities," smirked an amused gaunt man as two extremely pointy fangs protruded from his upper lip.

"It appears you two are acquainted," commented a feral, shabby and savage-looking man who had bounded towards them so quickly and silently that Wormtail had not been able to detect him.

"You would do well to watch your mouth, fur ball... while you still have one," sneered the Vampire Lord, Count Boris.

"Are you threatening me, pale-skinned rodent?" snarled the Alpha Werewolf Garron.

"Hold it gentlemen. First, save your animosity for those who matter. Second, milord is unlikely to be happy with such... distasteful behaviour," interrupted Wormtail tentatively. He was acutely aware of the lethal appendages available to both individuals and how inadequate he felt to be standing among the two leaders of their respective races. He felt oddly vulnerable clutching a thin piece of wood while attempting to pacify two extremely deadly specimens of Dark creatures.

A loud 'crack' snapped Wormtail out of his insecurities. Glancing around, Wormtail spotted a pale, gaunt and red-eyed wizard who was surveying their surroundings with distaste. Clad in black robes complete with hood, Lord Voldemort swished his cloak for the effect before stepping towards the unlikely trio, to varied greetings.

"My Lord... I am honoured to be of service...!" simpered Wormtail in almost-genuine ecstasy. Bending low, he reluctantly planted kisses on the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He felt filthy. He viciously quashed a thought that countless wizards had kissed the same robes.

"Ah. The Tainted One. I am indeed pleasured to be in the entourage of such a distinguished person," said Count Boris quietly.

"However, I cannot say that I am pleased to be in the presence of someone who is lacking and an... ignoramus." he finished, while eyeing the Alpha werewolf with unrivalled loathing.

"How has your hunt been, Blood Slayer? I am proud for you to lead this hunt. However, I doubt the loyalty of certain... members of the rout," said the Alpha werewolf Garron with a look of the deepest loathing at the vampire lord.

"Enough. Let us proceed," said Voldemort while raising his wand threateningly. "I refuse to allow the plan to be foiled by petty differences. Wormtail. Now."

Wormtail squealed as he revealed the location of his friend's family. The effect was immediate. A huge manor appeared on the previously deserted plot of land, complete with lawn, pond and hedges.

The fidelius charm had fallen, and with it, the safety of the manor's inhabitants.

--

A/N: I will post more at another time. Feel free to comment on this short portion.


	2. Baptised By Moonlight

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... or anything for that matter.**

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"_Sonorous!" _muttered Voldemort as he pointed his wand confidently at his throat. "Potters. Your child's time is up. Surrender, and you may live. I assure you, however, that that wretched brat will live no more. You have Lord Voldemort's word. Lord Voldemort does not go back on his word."

Pausing to savour his triumph, Voldemort continued. "Should you continue to resist, you will be exterminated with extreme prejudice. Did you really think that wards put up by that meddling fool of a headmaster could stop the inevitable? That the senile has-been who defeated weak Grindelward had sufficient warding capabilities to withstand my onslaught? You lost before you even began."

Having said his speech, Voldemort muttered, "_Quietus," _before surveying the manor.

"Never, Moldy. We, the Potters, shall mould you thoroughly! You will NOT touch Harry!" came a smug and determined reply, before peals of mocking laughter drifted through the air.

Breathing heavily in anger, Voldemort glared at the three men before gesturing towards the manor.

He and his associates began confidently walking across the lawn.

A few steps into the lawn, and Voldemort noticed something was amiss.

It was too quiet. The Dark Lord fired a silent reducto into the nearby bushes, with results.

As expected, the flora rose as one to snuff out the intruders. Fifty different types of plants ranging from venomous tentaculars to the famed _chi de salice_, more commonly known as the whomping willow, poised to strike down the intruders even as Voldemort began a new step. They were razed to the ground within seconds.

Black flames fluttered here and there, obliterating all flora resistance as the four men continued their stride, flinging unforgivable curses like there would be no tomorrow.

After a few minutes of futile resistance, the garden fought no more.

Voldemort did not break his stride as he continued to skulk towards the manor. Noticing a badly-hidden trap, Voldemort smirked in amusement before stepping purposefully onto it.

Countless animated golems sprang into being.

Gigantic stone golems burst from the earth with savage roars of fury while water golems rose from the depths of a pond nearby whose water did not seem to run out.

Smaller versions of the stone golems rained from the skies, causing large craters as they stood firm and ready to pulverise the intruders. A loud war cry resonated throughout the area.

From the charred heaps of plants rose the wood golems to avenge their fallen predecessors. Blackened by soot, singed and burnt, their eyes blazed with righteous fury.

In a matter of seconds, a vast armada of golems stood between the four men and the manor.

Still smirking, Voldemort bellowed, "_Finite incantatem maximus!"_

The effect was instantaneous. The altered version of the standard spell found in the arsenal of most students of wizarding schools eviscerated the armada. Large chunks of damp stones and moist rocks lay throughout the lawn.

Voldemort and company continued their approach. As the group reached the steps in front of the manor, a _Geminio _curse triggered. Numerous manors began appearing around them. Wormtail and the other two individuals seemed unsure as they peered around each other in a futile attempt to ascertain the correct objective.

Shaking his head in disbelief at the depths of Dumbledore's perceived weakness, Voldemort reached out with his magic in an attempt to locate said manor.

A secondary failsafe activated itself as a ward began siphoning his magic. With a moderate burst of magic, the ward was disabled and the real Potter manor located, but at a cost. Voldemort panted in exertion as he began recalling his magic. A tertiary failsafe activated.

_'What?_' gasped the self-styled Lord in apprehension. A foreign magic began invading his defenses. Apparently, the secondary ward had acted like a tracer of sorts, tracing the intruder's magic to his magic-core in order to trigger the tertiary fail safe. Voldemort experienced a powerful battering of his Occlumency shields. Just when he was on the precipice of defeat, the onslaught just... stopped. Only to be heralded by a deluge of water from the heavens.

_"What now?"_ grumbled the Dark Lord as he watched the water fill up an invisible pool... which they were standing in. Eyeing the dark and murky water in amusement, the four men poised to move, only for something ominous to happen.

With a squeal, Wormtail was pulled under by a respectable amount of force. Something moved in the depths. Apprehension immediately surfaced in the once-amused faces as the Dark creatures glanced at Voldemort for instructions.

_"Nagini. Go and check it out,"_hissed Voldemort as a huge serpent slithered from underneath his robes. With a splash, the serpent named Nagini disappeared into the depths.

_"Nothing here, Master... Wait... There's something in here, Master!"_ reported the serpent. After a few tense moments, the large serpent burst from the water in a deafening splash... only to be swallowed by a larger snake.

"A snake?" commented Voldemort in amusement. _"The speaker speaks. _**_Stop_."**

The snake ignored his words and headed for the gaunt, moving and rather tasty-looking wizard.

A deafening sound resonated as the snake collided with a hastily conjured silver shield. Angered now, seven more snakes surfaced from the water.

"A Hydra..." breathed the vampire lord

"A _deaf_ Hydra," corrected the alpha werewolf reluctantly.

"No wonder..." marveled Voldemort. A flash of green light would have ended the creatures' life... had it not rebounded into the air upon contact with the magic-resistant scales of the beast.

"Bah!" muttered Voldemort before sending yet another rain of Dark curses on the foul beast. Dumbledore sure chose his creatures well, as the creature bought the inhabitants of the manor plenty of time.

_"Crucio, Avada Kedavra, Sectumsepra, Avada Kedavra, Crucio!"_ hissed Voldemort in exasperation. All his curses were rebounded, while the physical battering on his shields by the eight-headed creature took their toll.

Suddenly, the creature simply dropped dead.

Gaping openly, the three men watched in consternation, until a slightly full Nagini and a battered Wormtail surfaced from the depths.

Breathing a mental sigh of relief, Voldemort put on his best poker-face in order to galvanise the others. Inwardly though, he cursed Dumbledore's foresight. Ascending up the stairs, Voldemort pointed his wand at the door. _"Silencio. Confringo maximus!" _A muffled crash brought the threshold's doors down as Voldemort strode in. Once in, Voldemort blinked in surprise.

Rows and rows of iron-clad knights greeted the intruders as the group began to get familiar with the sinking feeling in their guts. Several loud clanks echoed down the hallway as the medieval knights were animated.

_"Aw hell no... here we go again..."_groused Voldemort in Parseltongue as the large mob rushed the four with all manner of maces, swords, axes and lances. He did not want his followers to know his exasperation, afterall.

_"Confringo maximus!" _enunciated Voldemort clearly as a veritable explosion eradicated half the opposition easily. A flick of the wand transfigured the air around the legion to increase the oxygen composition and humidity which quickly rusted the remainder. Sighing, Voldemort and company continued onwards. Their steps rang ominously in the hallway.

A vast legion of dust-like figures sprang into being, each of them vaguely human-like, except that they lacked eyes. Several were nearly decapitated or were mutilated in similiar fashion. As one, they spoke.

**"You have murdered us. Now, pay for it!"** accused the legion as they rose as one to attack.

The figures attacked relentlessly. Cutting curses did not impede them, as the parts merely continued their assault after reforming. Bludgeoning curses went straight through them, and the holes immediately closed up. The three followers quickly found themselves losing ground, while their leader analysed the legion of dust minions with amusement.

"Lord Voldemort knows how to defeat you; Lord Voldemort always knows..." smirked Tom Marvolo Riddle in smug amusement.

_"Aguamenti! Evanesco!"_ hissed the Dark Lord. The ensuing torrent of water swept away the dust-like figures rapidly, and the tainted water was immediately vanished.

"Come out, you old hypocrite! Come out **NOW**!" bellowed Lord Voldemort in annoyance.

With a large crack, the largest obstacle to their advancement presented himself. Eyes that burned with a holy fury met cold eyes that reveled in the slaughter of muggles.

Lord Voldemort met the only man he ever feared. Albus Perceival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, in all his aged and wrinkly glory, brandishing the very staff he had wielded against the Dark Lord Grindelward.

"Continue on. I will take care of this old geezer myself. I want the boy to be no longer of the living," sneered Voldemort as his tone betrayed a hint of condescension that was not lost on his allies. Silently, Wormtail, the gaunt Count Boris and the Alpha Werewolf Garron stalked off past the two nemeses.

_"Reducto, stupefy, incendio!" _bellowed Dumbledore in a half-hearted attempt to hinder the Animagus, Vampire Lord and Alpha Werewolf. Nearly all his will had left upon sighting the abomination his old student had become.

His spells were deflected by a hastily muttered _"Protego."_

"Come now, Dumbledore. Have you grown so weak that you resort to the jinxes utilised by the very students you were sworn to protect? Pathetic," spat Voldemort in utter disgust. "You will perish here and now, Headmaster."

"Nay, Tom. I dare say I still have sufficient fight in this old body to engage an astray student of mine," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Enough talk, old fart." sneered Voldemort. "_Crucio! Confringo maximus! Cella maximus! Avada Kedavra!"_

In a flash of light, Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix took the first three curses. With a feeble chirp, Fawkes burst into a pile of feathers, exposing himself as a featherless phoenix chick. The last however, was deflected by a smiling Dumbledore by placing his staff in front of him. With a shudder, the sickly-green light was absorbed into the glowing runes surrounding the staff.

"What trickery is this...?" hissed Voldemort as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What dark magic are you using, Dumbledore...?"

"Elementary Ancient Runes, my dear Tom," replied Dumbledore smugly.

"Lies, you hypocrite! You forget that I too, once took Ancient Runes... The Wizarding World surely would balk at the leader of the Light using the Dark Arts," mused Voldemort.

"Alas, I have no time to dawdle around. I must finish it now! Behold! The spell that finished your predecessor!" bellowed Dumbledore while stretching his hands above him, as if envisioning an intense feat of magic.

_"Signum veneficus, denique!"_

A blazing orb of blueish light slowly manifested in front of the combatants in the middle of the landing.

As Voldemort paused, transfixed by the radiance conjured by the Leader of the Light, an ethereal beam shot towards the ceiling and passed through it.

Moments passed. Nothing happened. Dumbledore merely stood there, smiling while the Dark Lord looked on in badly-concealed apprehension.

"Ha! Old fool! You have grown weak! Now, I shall kill you and end this!" gloated Voldemort. Dumbledore merely smiled and waited.

_"Avada Kedav-"_began Voldemort as a strange ethereal orb erupted painlessly from his chest. _"ra?"_His aim was off, as the green beam shot towards the orb of blueish light, intertwined with the sky-bound ray, and vanished into the ceiling.

Instantly, a blue spear that was tinged by green erupted from Voldemort's chest as well to pierce the miniature orb. He collapsed immediately as his body began to dissipate in a shower of blue-green sparks.

A shadow flitted out of the rapidly-dissipating Dark Lord and raced off into the night.

"No!" exclaimed Dumbledore in horror as he noticed the greenish tinge of the beam.

Hoping he was not too late, Dumbledore made to rush towards the nursery above... but not before popping a lemon drop.

--

**(Meanwhile...)**

In the nursery, things looked dire for young Harry.

"Time to gain freedom for our twin races!" proclaimed Count Boris and Alpha Werewolf Garron together as they raised their respective weapons together. The Count had elongated his claws while the Alpha Werewolf had managed a partial transformation. Both were poised to end the life of the helpless child in the cot. In the corner, James and Lily Potter lay unconscious, thanks to Wormtail's deceit, and two well-placed stunning spells. Time seemed to slow as the fatal appendages descended towards young Harry Potter.

"With this, the Dark Lord will surely elevate us into the ranks of those he trusts!" breathed Count Boris.

"No! Don't! The Dark Lord will not abide by his promises! I beg of you, kind sirs, do not do it!" cautioned Wormtail, who had last minute misgivings as the resentment and self-loathing long dormant within his ratty soul culminated in this final act. "The Dark Lord is just as likely to set you free as this boy here will!"

Unexpectedly, they took his words literally. "Oh, dearie me. In that eventuality, I might stay my hand. I suppose a little taste of his blood won't hurt..." mused Count Boris as he tentatively nicked young Harry's arm slightly with a lone claw to draw blood. Eagerly, he licked the blood off his appendage. "He's tasty. I like him. I'll let him live."

On the other hand, the werewolf Garron was unable to resist 'marking' young Harry as his own. Grinning ferally, he tried to etch a cross on young Harry's forehead. Unfortunately, it appeared that Alpha Garron was simply terrible at the art of drawing. After a dozen practices in the air, he painstakingly etched a lightning-bolt onto Harry's forehead.

Suddenly, a blue light darted out of the floor, and seemed to be absorbed by Harry, who was suspended in mid-air by the ancient magic he was an integral part of. The animagus, the vampire and the werewolf watched on in trans-fixation as Harry Potter seemed to absorb the azure radiance.

Moments passed. Nothing happened. The three men puzzled over the origin, and effects of the blueish radiance. No one bothered looking at the crumpled heaps of James and Lily Potter in the corner. Had they turned to observe, they would have noticed orbs of pure blue untouched by green erupt for within their unconscious frames and rejoin the suspended Harry.

Suddenly, a large blue figure appeared before them. In a soft, almost tranquil voice, it uttered, "I shall now cleanse those non-bonded infidels who possess the life essence of the boy."

Spreading its arms, a green light coiled around the blueish light and surged into Harry Potter. An azure-blue orb that was impaled by a blueish-green spear burst from Count Boris's chest. He immediately collapsed, eternal life retreating from his features. His body, too, became a burst of blueish-green sparks.

Cheerfully, the baby Harry Potter turned towards the open window, where a full moon was visible.

Hair began to sprout, his facial features lengthened, muscles grew, claws elongated and teeth sharpened, as the transformation from man to beast began in young Harry.

Once sluggish, said transformation sped up considerably at once, and young Harry staggered to his feet, standing tall and bright as a newly transformed Werewolf.

He turned to the nearest person, Wormtail, who was petrified with fear.

Harry Potter cheerfully plunged a hand into Wormtail's ribcage and withdrew a very important organ to Wormtail - his heart. Then, he swallowed it whole. Death clouded Wormtail's features which were frozen in an expression of shock for all eternity.

Thinking quickly, Garron drew a needle full of a dose of Wolfsbane potion from his coat, with no time to spare. Werewolf Harry lunged at him, snarling and growling animalistically, but the infinitely-more experienced Alpha merely sidestepped the clumsy lunge and plunged the needle into Harry.

Grabbing the quickly-reverting Harry, Garron leaped out of the windows into the night, just as Dumbledore rushed into the room.

"Harry!" yelled Dumbledore, before adding under his breath, "Mmm... I love lemon drops."

--

A/N: There. Feel free to review on this second chapter. Mistakes, plot holes, that kind of thing.


	3. Judgement Of The Council

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter. That right belongs to JK Rowling**

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Garron sprinted along the Potters' lawn as fast as he could while being burdened down by the weight of an unconscious post-transformation baby Harry and cartload of potions and salvos that was attached to his vest.

Thankfully, Garron had had the foresight to partially transform himself in order to augment his physical attributes. Every now and then, he swerved left, right or jumped as spells from an angry Albus Dumbledore rained onto them like there was no tomorrow.

While dodging the veritable barrage of high-powered and extremely fatal spells, Garron tried to assauge his inner unease. What he was doing was sinking to the same level as that despicable turncoat, Fenrir Greyback - kidnapping. The thought that he was technically kidnapping young Harry left a bitter taste. Garron reminded himself however, that he had to do what was right and not what was easy.

Afterall, young Harry had absolutely no control over his new powers, as was evident earlier. The thought of having no one teach the new pup how **not** to go on a bloodthirsty rampage whenever the moon was full, not unlike a certain wandering werewolf he knew, curdled his blood.

He also tried to convince himself that this was for the good of his race - for if Harry was a part of them and learned their ways, surely he would champion their cause when the time came. A whip of fire came way too close for comfort as Garron was forced to snap out of his inner musings for the sake of survival.

Letting out a feral howl while pointing his palm at the moon, the Alpha Werewolf simply vanished into thin air within the bounds of the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards, while a certain silver-haired headmaster of Hogwarts watched on in disbelief.

--

Albus Perceival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not pleased at all. He had anticipated Voldemort's raid and had prepared moderate protection.

Thanks to his most loyal spy, he had been able to formulate a plan worthy of the most powerful Dark Lord in a century. It was a pity that his spy was now deceased, an expression of horror on his face. It was only collateral damage, mused Dumbledore as he closed his spy's eyes with a shaking hand.

Who could have anticipated the machinations of Luck and Fate, the thwarters of even the most well-thought out plans?

Dumbledore had not expected his spy to be slaughtered mercilessly by an unknown foe, nor did he anticipate that a hulking brute of a person would capture young Harry for unknown purposes. He had not expected an unforgivable curse to enmesh itself with his spell either.

For all he knew, the combination could cause severely detrimental to the subject who had provided the medium through which he could put an temporary end to Voldemort. He definitely knew that those who he had keyed not to be affected by his spell had not been spared the original effects, although thankfully, the altered effects were not incured.

Sighing sadly, he withdrew a fudge-coated lollipop. Imagining Fudge's face, Dumbledore grimaced in horror. Shrugging, he gave the lollipop a hug before licking it happily.

Muggles down the street could have sworn they heard a four year-old girl scream "Mine!" happily.

--

Garron found himself in a clearing within a moonlit coniferous forest. Offering thanks to the Silver Mother for delivering him, and the newly turned bundle he was carrying, safely to the sacred grounds where the true werewolves had retreated to after vicious persecution from the wand-carriers.

'Those fools actually thought themselves rid of the lycaeans', snorted Garron in derisive amusements.

After allowing himself a few moments to calm his pounding heart, Garron howled a second howl; similiar, yet different from the one before it.

After a terse wait of slightly over fifteen minutes, the Council was gathered, in classic face-obscuring garb.

Garron stood before them in apprehension, before launching into a vivid, yet slightly biased version of his exploits.

'Small nudges into approval of Harry are sorely needed', reasoned Garron mentally.

After his explanation, during which he passed Harry to the Council, which consisted of five extremely powerful unknown werewolves, the elders discussed the issue among themselves, before an appointed spokesman stepped forth.

Clearing his throat, the nervous spokesman spoke.

"Do you, Alpha Garron, hereby pledge your allegiance to the whelp?"

"Yes."

"Will you take responsibility for his actions and train him in the ways of the Moon?"

"Yes."

"Very well. The Council has decided. The new whelp, shall be christened Xok, and he shall undergo tests at the phases of his coming of age."

Thanking the spokesman, and the unknown Council profusely, Garron grabbed the young werewolf from the spokesman, took a bow, and sprinted towards his den in elation.

--

**(One year later)**

"Alright, Xok, listen up. You are currently two years of age. For reasons that still puzzle us, Turned children tend to mature faster than the average Muggle. The average Muggle would begin lessons at the age of four. You, however, do NOT have that luxury. All young pups undergo the Tests at the age of six, twelve and eighteen. Understand?" lectured Garron, glancing at the morning sky idly.

"Yep!" nodded a cheerful Xok emphatically.

"Today, we will begin your attempts to tame the beast within. Once you have mastered this art, you can do..." paused Garron mid-lecture.

"...this," muttered Garron as he turned his right arm into a fully-transformed werewolf's limb.

"Ooh..." gasped Xok in amazement.

"Untrained werewolves are a hazard to society, be it Muggle, Wizarding... or the Pack," continued Garron sternly. "It is for this reason that the werewolves in general are feared. The second reason is that the weak fear the strong."

Garron glanced Harry over, and was rewarded with a vigorous nod.

"Firstly, to tame the wolf, you need to be fit. Give me ten laps around the forest. Move it," smirked Garron at Xok's dismayed expression.

At the second lap, Xok began to pant heavily. At the fifth, he was red-faced and definitely panting. At the seventh, Xokwas loud enough to wake up half the pack. At the tenth, Xok was ready to collapse with exhaustion.

"Right then, fifty pushups! Go on," bellowed Garron before demonstrating it for the two year-old.

All the reaction he got, was a solid 'thud' as the youth fainted.

Garron sighed. This would take a while.

--

When Xok came to, he found himself on a comfortable make-shift bed of moss and leaves. A blond was facing away from him, anxiously tending a cauldron over a fire. Confusion sank into the depths of Xok's sleepy mind.

Since when was Garron, the brunette, a blond, or distinctly feminine? As soon as this question surfaced, the answer presented itself. That was not Garron.

Sitting up, Xok groaned as muscles he never knew existed ached from exertion.

"Relax. I am Jen, and Garron, my Alpha, decided to call in a favour. You see, I am the potions expert within our pack," smiled the twenty-odd years old lady. "There are over twenty packs, each with different customs, names, leaders and might. Our pack is the Silverleaf."

"Whatcha' cooking?" inquired Xok eloquently.

"I am BREWING something to enable you to calm and befriend your inner beast," frowned Jen, with a malovolent glare at the younger werewolf.

"So... when is it done?"

"It will be finished in four hours," said Jen. "Once you consume it, you should feel a short bout of discomfort. It'll pass quickly..."

"...I hope," added the female werewolf under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing..." she beamed innocently. "The potion allows you to enter a trance, in which you should meet your inner canine FRIEND. Its properties shall allow you to gradually learn his language, and eventually allow you to converse with him. You MUST learn his language."

"Why?"

"All of lycan magic, which is bountiful, by the way require usage of it," reasoned Jen. "Also, until you learn enough to establish contact without the Wolfsaid potion, your monthly changes will continue to transform you into a mindless beast, and you must rely on the Wolfsbane potion."

Xok shuddered empathically. He hated the Bane. It was bitter, and made him feel unnatural and... suppressed in a way.

"Most of our brethren would continue to mix with the wizards remain reliant on the Bane," spat Jen in distaste. "They remain ignorant of our ways, and continue to think of our blessing as a curse."

"Okie."

"Now... I believe Garron set you some pushups?" inquired Jen with a sadistic glint in her eye and an evil chuckle.

"Aw..." groused Xok as he scrambled to his feet.

"Hop to it, then. You have been lying around for five hours already. I will call you when the Wolfsaid is ready."

Xok skulked into the nearest clearing and began his regime anew. Nearby, a masked figure watched him going about his routine with a vengeance in amusement.

'He will do well,' mused the figure before fading into the foliage.

--

"Xok! It's complete!" hollered Jen in satisfaction as she stood up and stretched her aching limbs.

Responding to the summons with unnatural enthusiasm for someone who had just undergone a gruelling exercise routine, Xok sprinted next to her and wait expectantly for further instructions.

"Drink it. Go on," urged Jen in amusement.

Xok need no more encouragement.

"Cheers!"

After practically inhaling the contents, Xok dropped the bottle. Gasps of pain began to emanate from his writhing form as he sank to the floor in agony.

--

"Where am I?" pondered a black-haired, emerald-eyed kid as he looked around. He was in a plain of sorts, which seemed desolate.

'Then again, short people and tall grasses do NOT go together,' groused Xok.

A nearby rustle nearly made him scream. A twig snapped and Xok held his breath.

Without further ado, a silvery-white wolf padded into view.

"_Greetings, Xok."_

_"Wait, how do you know my name? How come I sound funny?" _blinked Xok in confusion as he eyed the wolf in suspicion.

_"Firstly, I am a part of you. I know stuff you do, and stuff you may not. As for the second, I would imagine that is an effect of the potion. Don't worry about what Jen said, she was pulling your leg - the potion automatically helps you learn our language," _assured the wolf. _"By the way, call me Silverfoot. I am impressed, however. Few ever show so much aptitude for the language of the pack, and at such a young age? Impressive indeed. I shall be your tutor in our arts. Alpha werewolf Garron will be your physical instructor, and Elder Jen shall teach you in our ways."_

"Okie."

_"Ah, the potion must have worn off. Good luck, Xok," _said the wolf, before turning around and leaving.

Xok felt himself falling, falling into an abyss of darkness, before he came to on the previously vacated bed of moss and leaves. Nightfall had come.

With an exhausted huff, Xok dragged himself back to Garron's den for some sleep

* * *

Writing this is fun... although I am still a lazy bum...


End file.
